


Twisted Memories

by AndInThoseMoments



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Clint Feels, Dark, M/M, Past Abuse, Protective Phil Coulson, Psychological Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-18
Updated: 2013-07-10
Packaged: 2017-12-08 21:29:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/766217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndInThoseMoments/pseuds/AndInThoseMoments
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint is trapped in the dark, held by people who want something that he knows as reality distorts around him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TriffidsandCuckoos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TriffidsandCuckoos/gifts).



Clint couldn’t believe he used to hate the dark. When they’d first brought him here, first tied him in it, he had despised it. He had screamed and fought and begged, because he hadn’t been able to imagine worse. 

Natasha always had told him he had a bad imagination.

Now, waking in the dark and the cold was a relief. It meant a temporary break from agony, from demands in a language he could barely understand and couldn’t remember the name of. Time meant nothing here. They told him it had been months, then days. Judging by how his hair and beard had grown, it was a month maybe, but even that got taken from him, and that record had been lost. They made demands for information that he couldn’t remember, most of the time, and he was glad of that. Because if he didn’t know, they couldn’t force it out of him.

His world had shrunk down from the pain, to his name, and his number, and the letters S H I E L D. That was all he had left most of the time, and that helped. Because if he could only remember that, he couldn’t tell them. No matter how much he wanted to make the pain stop, if he couldn’t remember what they wanted it was better. He had to try and hold out.

Everything hurt, and he waited, curled up in the darkness, trying to force himself to do press ups and sit ups and lunges, to keep moving, to keep his strength up. The room was so cold he was shivering. He was hungry and tired but he had to try. He wasn’t sure who was coming for him, he doubted he would be rescued, but he couldn’t let himself get weak. If he got too weak, then they might turn up and decide he was a lost cause. They might leave him behind. He couldn’t remember who they were.

He choked at the effort, his arms screaming at him to stop as he made himself keep exercising. It didn’t take long until he collapsed face first onto the floor of the room he was in, unable to move. 

He let himself lay there for a while, then rolled over, hissing in pain and crawling back to his corner, examining himself with hesitant fingers. His ankle was still badly swollen, but there were no other breaks he could feel. They tended to use electricity, or worse, when they wanted him to talk. They’d threatened his hands, but those were intact for now. They wanted him to shoot for them. His fingernails were gone, had been taken more than once, but they would grow back.

Whatever information he had, he knew it was worth his pain. He didn’t know why.

The door crashed open, and brought with it the first light he had seen in several hours, blinding him. Clint curled up, trying to scrabble away.  
“You ready to talk yet songbird?”

“Clint Barton. Agent. 15849.” He repeated the words over and over to himself. It helped him to think, to concentrate on something other than the pain, and it meant that if he started to lose control it was more likely he would give those words than something valuable. A hand fastened around his wrist, and he was pulled away from the only shelter he had.

He didn’t even try and look up and see who had him this time. There was no point. The fight had mainly left him now. He’d accepted the torture as the cost of his continued silence, and he could no longer remember what it was he wasn’t saying. But when he saw which room they were going to, he started to fight. He couldn’t get away, but he had to try. A syringe was plunged into his arm and his world went dark, not the dark of the locked room but something worse.

When he opened his eyes, he was in hell. The room had distorted, faces changed, and it was Barney who was sneering down at him, and then as he looked closer he realised it wasn’t Barney at all. It was Trickshot, with the same smirk he had seen hundreds of times, the one that made him retch.

He tried to look at the walls, and realised with a laugh that they weren’t brick like he had thought. They were wood, overlapping slats with the smell of soiled straw and animals. They were back there, and outside he could hear the music of rehearsals. He thrashed around, and he could see people in the shadows, and Trickshot had his hand, was bending his fingers back just enough that it would make shooting agony for the next few days, and Clint could see his lips were moving, but he couldn’t make out the words, and Trickshot raised his hand to strike him. 

Clint couldn’t hold back a flinch.

The hand impacted with the side of his face, and when he looked up he realised he’d been wrong, or had moved, or something. Trickshot wasn’t there, it was Harold, his father, looking down at him with rage, one hand resting over Clint’s throat.  
“Where is she?” He demanded, and Clint swallowed, shaking, trying to remember, knowing if he said then his mother would be hurt again but he was afraid. He was shaken, and he knew he was crying. “Where is she?”

“Cl…Clint…ba…” He tried to speak, his tongue swollen too heavy to make words. He cringed as his father raised his hand again, but the blow brought further questions and he couldn’t answer, he didn’t know where his mother was. Whimpering, he bowed his head, staring at the kitchen tiles.  
“I don’t know where mom is…”  
“You stupid shit.” There was anger then, and the blows were harder. “Not her. You know who we want.”

And in a moment he remembered, and he understood who they wanted. He knew where he was, and he just prayed that soon he could forget. The crimson walls of the room were beginning to blur back into focus, and he knew. 

“You need a drink?” His captor asked, and he looked up and froze in fear at the sight of a painted face, the cheerful smile of a clown that haunted him years after what had happened. “Tell me what I want to hear and you can get a drink.”

Clint couldn’t tear his eyes away, couldn’t move, couldn’t think. He barely heard the swearing and couldn’t decipher the words, hardly realised as he was unfastened, and thrown back into the darkness. He drew his knees up to his chest, and curled up, his face down.  
“Clint Barton. Agent. 15849.” He tried to block the images from his mind, the lingering effects of the drug twinned with the knowledge of what they wanted. He knew where he was. And he knew, with utter certainty, that they would get what they had taken him for. He’d held out so far, but he wouldn’t hold out forever.

He sunk back into a dreamless sleep, exhausted from fear.

When he opened his eyes again, the darkness felt warmer. There was something over him. His fingers twitched, and he felt the edge of a cloth. A blanket. After so long in the cold it made him start to cry, and he tried to hold onto it, knowing they would take it from him in a moment if they got the chance. It might be a different tactic, he wasn’t sure.

“Barton.” That voice. He knew it, and at that moment he was overwhelmed by memories, by knowledge, and he shuddered. Because this was worse, worse than anything they had done before. It was a new drug, he supposed, and he didn’t know how long he could hold out. Coulson had helped him first time by being kind, and he’d never been able to resist kindness. 

“Agent Barton, can you hear me?” A rough hand pressed over his, and the bandages over his eyes were slowly unwound, and Coulson’s face looked down at him. “It’s alright now. We’ve got you.”  
“Clint Barton. Agent. 15849. Clint Barton. Agent. 15849.” Clint repeated it as a mantra, closing his eyes, trying to block out the sight of the older man. His body shook frantically. He couldn’t block out the touch to his forehead, the tenderness there, a kindness he hadn’t known since they had caught him.

“Easy…” Coulson soothed, rubbing a hand over his back. “It’s alright Clint. We’ve got you.”  
“Drugs.” He panted, angry with himself for giving something away, but unable to stay quiet. He was bad at staying quiet when it involved Coulson.  
“It’s okay, toxicology is screening your blood right now… you’re in a bad way Clint, you’re in medical. You’ve been tortured.”  
“No.” He kept his eyes firmly closed. “No. Agent…Clint… Clint…”  
He was pulled against a strong chest, and he took a deep breath, his lungs filling with the scent of Coulson, a mixture of coffee and fresh air and gun oil. It was unmistakeable. He had never thought he could smell it again.

He rested his head on Coulson’s chest, taking deep breaths of his scent, shaking in his arms, and not looking up. If he stayed quiet, he could take this. He could remember this moment, no matter what the drugs did to him next.  
“We’ve got you Clint…” Coulson whispered, and there was a calmness there, and Clint felt himself relax. “I’m guessing you’re doubting if it’s me right now?”  
Clint nodded, hating himself for the lack of certainty, the fact he knew it wasn’t Coulson but couldn’t be sure.  
“That’s alright. You don’t have to talk to me about anything okay? Or if we do talk, it can just be unrelated to work, does that sound good? You don’t have to tell me anything until you’re ready. Natasha will be here soon.”

Clint shivered slightly, and Coulson stroked his fingers through his hair, soothingly resting a hand on the back of his neck.  
“It’s alright Clint. I’m not angry. You did well. Now, get some sleep, I’ll be right here.” He settled into the chair next to Clint’s bed, his hand on Clint’s wrist.

Clint pretended to rest, but peeked out from the narrow gap between his eyelids, frightened that if he did rest, Coulson would be gone when he awoke. But the drugs medical had given him were doing their job, and soon he was asleep. When he opened his eyes, Coulson was still there, holding his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by a conversation with the amazing Triffidsandcuckoos based on the idea of the Red Room getting Clint.
> 
> There's a chance I might do a second chapter of this, if people would be interested.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint is haunted by nightmares, and Natasha isn't sure that he's back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slight delay here, I wanted to work out what was happening with it. I now have a plan, and hope to finish it before the end of the month.  
> Warnings: Mentions of past abuse and trauma

Clint could see Harold standing above him, his face contorted with a sneer, the scent of alcohol heavy on his breath, snarling words that Clint couldn’t understand. He started to panic, his heartbeat speeding up.

He was trapped, trying to back away, not having time to get out of sight or hide from him, and he was going to be in trouble. His mother was curled up by the door of the kitchen, and she was gazing blankly up at the ceiling, her eyes unfocussed. She wasn't coming to help, and Barney was edging him in from the other side, surrounding him. He was going to be sick.

The worst part was, he knew he would be in a lot of trouble for being sick. He didn't want to make his father angrier, but his entire body was convulsing, and he screwed his eyes tightly shut so he wouldn't have to see.

The atmosphere changed, in a way he couldn't place. He could taste wood smoke now, and hear laughter carried on the wind, and he knew that he was in one of the trailers. He risked a glance, and realised he wasn't alone there. Trickshot was watching him impassively, his face blank. It was a kind of blank that meant Clint could very easily be in a lot of trouble. Clint tried to stand his ground for now. Running away just got you into more trouble. He managed to hold his position until Trickshot advanced towards him, and he saw the glint of a blade in his hand.

At that point, Clint tried to back away, but there was nowhere that he could go. Trickshot's expression had twisted with anger, and Clint wished he knew what he had done wrong. It must have been bad. The blade came closer, threatening his eyes before moving to his shoulder. The edge brushed over the skin and he heard himself begin to scream.

"Clint." Coulson's voice cut through the vision, freezing everything in place, and Clint ducked beneath the blade as the scene faded. He risked opening his eyes for a split second to see where he was. He was still in hospital, assuming that this was real. He wished he could have some certainty about that. He didn't want to say anything other than his name, rank and number. For months that had been his reassurance, his silent way of holding onto what he was, and the thought of saying something else caught in his throat.

"Clint Barton. Agent. 15849." He muttered, and a familiar hand rested on his shoulder, squeezing gently, the thumb finding the perfect spot against the shoulder blade and making him relax.  
"You're doing well Clint."

He nodded. He could respond to that. He just couldn't tell them anything they wanted to know. That had been his mantra, not to say anything, and now he couldn't leave it behind.  
"It's good to have you back Barton." Natasha informed him from her position on the other side of Clint's bed. He painfully turned his head towards her, and she nodded. He smiled, and yawned. He didn't want to go back to bed.

Natasha leaned down so that she could whisper in his ear, reeling out the security codes and practices that were just between the two of them, along with secrets only they shared. She supplied them without hesitation, faster than Clint's own mind could ever have conjured them, and continued to whisper to him for almost three minutes. When she pulled away, Clint felt his body go limp. She nodded at Coulson, straightening up and resuming her seat.  
"Of course, this is assuming it is Barton."

Clint felt anger inside him now. He had spent months being tortured to protect her, and right now she was doubting who he even was. It made him feel ill. She seemed to notice after a moment, because she reached out and wrapped her hand around his.  
"I'm sorry Clint. I want it to be you. It's just." For a second her voice faltered, and Clint didn't need to be looking at her to know that her eyes had acquired the dead, cold look that they gained so easily when she talked about her past. "Well, at least you didn't escape."

"The fuck?" Clint answered, shocked by her calm response. He had hoped she might be pleased to see him. She looked into his eyes.  
"If you had escaped, we'd know it was a part of their plan. No one escapes the Red Room."  
"You did."  
"I did at great cost, after years of planning, in which I slowly encouraged them to lengthen the noose around my neck until they could no longer recognise the second I slipped the leash. I was free. You were a prisoner. If you had escaped yourself, they would have wanted that."

Clint wished that phrase was more reassuring, even though he knew she was trying.  
"I didn't tell them anything." He had to hold onto that knowledge. It had been agony, but he hadn't told a word of it.

"Possibly. There's a chance they found it and then just made you believe that you hadn't said... but I don't think they would have continued to ask you if they had got what they wanted. So there's that. But they had you for a long time Clint."

Clint turned away from her, feeling sick. He knew what she was saying, even if she wouldn't voice the words. She thought he was compromised, that he was a traitor. He was reminded of Loki, of pain and letting go everything that was precious, of the last time he had turned against those who cared for him. Coulson's fingers through his hair were the only thing that stopped him from panicking at that moment. He had suffered, and she was going to accuse him of betrayal. He felt her fingers join Coulson's, tracing along his spine, and it was a few seconds before he could relax.

"I didn't tell." He insisted. Her lips pressed together into a thin line for a moment, and then she nodded.   
“I know.” 

Silence fell between the three of them, and they sat there together, tense with memories, until Coulson squeezed his hand.  
“The team will be glad to have you home Clint. They’re waiting for you.” Coulson reassured him, and Clint felt himself relaxing just a little bit. He still had a home. He had survived torture, and now he had somewhere to go home to.  
“Thank you.” This was real. He knew that. He just had to find a way to believe it.

He let himself close his eyes, focussing on the presence of his friend and lover. Coulson’s hand was on his, and that made him feel secure. He laid there for a little while, until he heard footsteps into the room. Opening his eyes, he saw one of the SHIELD medics looking down at him.

“How is he?” Coulson asked, not letting go.   
“Physically, he’s in a bad way. Dehydrated, malnourished and exhausted, his ankle had been broken and got infected, we’ve already treated that. No other breaks, but some deep bruising, burn marks to his side and his fingernails were torn out.” The doctor moved closer. “We’ve done what we can for his physical injuries, but those alone mean that he won’t be fit for active missions for another month. Mentally, we aren’t sure what the long term impacts will be, but he needs to meet with the psych department and have several tests. Then… when he is fit to return to work is based on the judgement of his handler and his counsellor.”

Coulson nodded smartly.   
“I want him to meet with the psych department as soon as is possible. Barton, you have to talk to them. Doctor, if all the tests are done, can he return home?”  
“He can, but I would recommend that he was supervised.”

“We wouldn’t leave him alone unless we knew he was alright.” Natasha informed the doctor calmly. “We will take care of him.”

The man hesitated for a moment, and then nodded once.   
“I’ll go and arrange the tests. For now, try and get him to eat something.”

“I will.” Coulson answered, and Natasha left to find food. Clint kept thinking over the discussion that had just happened. He had to try and pass the psych tests, so that he could go home. He didn’t want to talk about what had happened, but if even Natasha considered that he might be being used by the Red Room, he would have to. He would prove to his friends that he was worthy of their trust.

“I know you don’t like the psych department Clint…” Coulson spoke softly, hesitantly, and Clint managed a shrug.  
“Maybe not. But I’ve got to make a good impression to carry on with my job, so I’ll try.” Coulson nodded, and Clint thought that for just a moment he saw a glint of pride in Coulson’s eyes.

Talking to the psych department was difficult, but Clint was determined to manage it. He answered every question to the best of his ability, and managed to hide his urge to punch them when they implied he might not be trustworthy. It took a while, but eventually it was over, and he was allowed to return.

Coulson supported him as he walked into the tower, and Clint was grateful for that. He was a little frightened that the team might have suddenly surrounded him, or acted strangely. But as he pushed open the door, he saw the team standing there and smiled. 

Tony marched straight over and wrapped his arms around him.  
“Bout time you got your lazy ass home Legolas. You have a good holiday in Russia?”  
Clint nodded, hugging him back.  
“It’s good to have you back Clint.” Bruce spoke softly and Clint turned to face him.  
“It’s good to be back.”

“We’re here for you.” That was Steve, with his calm smile and American charm. At times Clint could see why Coulson admired him so much.  
“We are all glad for your return Hawk-eyed one.” Thor proclaimed, picking up both Clint and Tony in a tight embrace. Clint grinned shyly up at him, but before he could say any more, Bruce headed into the kitchen.  
“Dinner’s ready!”


	3. Chapter 3

Recovery was hard. Clint's nightmares didn't stop, and he could barely sleep. Most of the time, he would manage to sleep for a little while, and then either wake himself by screaming, or cry out so loud that Coulson would wake him. He kept expecting to wake to find that he was back there, that this was the frantic imaginings of his desperate mind which despite all of the pain was still trying to stay alive.

Every time he woke he found he was still in the tower. Coulson slept beside him, and was showing signs of exhaustion from waking him so often.  
"I could sleep alone." He whispered one night when they curled up into bed together, Coulson's arms around his shoulders.   
"You could." Coulson agreed. "But you don't have to. Right now, I think you want the company, and I certainly do. I was without you for months Clint. I don't want to let you go."

That helped Clint to relax a little, even if the sleep he managed to grab was fragmentary, and consisted of the worst moments of his life played again and again. Sometimes, those moments altered to include new friends, to make the situation worse. He hated The Red Room, hated what they had done to him and how his mind just didn't seem to fix.

He cornered Natasha one day in the gym.  
"How did you survive it Tasha?" He whispered, his voice sounding hollow to his own ears. He didn't have to explain what it was, what he was talking about. She knew. She hesitated and her eyes glazed a little. He waited for a lie, but when she opened her mouth none came.

"I survived it because they weren't actively torturing me, not constantly. Their treatment of me was many things, but they wanted me to survive. They twisted my mind and programmed me, but I knew little else. They helped raise me, and I had been raised by soldiers even before I came to them. You have suffered a lot Clint, and I know that they will have used every single moment of pain against you. The fact you kept your mind just proves to me that I have a strong partner." Her hand squeezed his, and Clint glanced away.

He didn't want to contradict her, but he certainly didn't feel strong.  
"I have nightmares."  
"I know." Natasha responded. "So do I."  
"Phil's... it's asking too much of him, for him to keep an eye on me..."  
"No." Natasha shook her head. "He wants this. If he needs a night off, then I can care for you. Remember Venice?"

Clint nodded. He remembered. He'd been injured, and given a bad beating by the enemy. He'd been injected by some kind of drug that made it feel as though his skin were crawling, and he had thought he was about to lose his mind. Natasha had just curled up in bed with him and drawn him close, her arms around him. She had watched him through the night, and had kept him alive.  
"Thanks Tasha."

"It's alright." There was honesty in those words, and that helped. Clint knew Natasha, knew that she would never lie to him out of consideration for his feelings. If she said that it was alright, he was going to believe her.  
"How have the meetings with psych been going?"  
"Alright... They seem to be accepting that nothing got done to me. I've been cleared to shoot on the range, even if there are 'rules'." He did air quotes around the word and it made her smile. "I shoot alone, I'm watched by CCTV, and I have to put the bow down and go stand at the back of the range with my hands behind me after while someone collects the weapons. It's dumb. If I was gonna kill someone, we both know I wouldn't need the bow in my hands to do it."

"Coulson is talking to them about that." Natasha reassured him, and Clint knew that was true, that Coulson was trying to loosen the restrictions.  
"I just want back on the team. That last mission would have been quicker if you'd had a sniper to hand and you know it."  
"I know Clint. I know." Natasha's voice was calm and level and relaxed, and part of it made Clint's blood run hot, but he knew she was doing her best and he shouldn't complain. He just wanted to go on missions. He needed to. "I've been asked to give an assessment of you, being somewhat of an expert on the Red Room's procedures. I'm going to be honest with them."  
"And?" Clint whispered, tongue feeling heavy in his mouth.  
"And recommend they let you back out."

Clint collapsed against her, relief flooding his body.   
He needed to be out. He needed that bow in his hand, to be on the missions, to do the job that he was made for. He knew that, with a certainty that reached deep into the very core of his being. And Natasha would help him get that. 

He didn't know if being back in the field would help. It could easily cause worse memories, ones that would be distorted by the nightmares, but it would be something. It would be better than the emptiness of his life now. Everyone tried to put a positive spin on it, spoke about him healing, about him recovering. It was as if they had missed the way he floated around the tower aimlessly, as though they hadn't noticed the way he fell asleep into his cereal, the way he almost fell down the stairs. He had nothing right now, and his entire existence felt meaningless. 

In the cell, he had fought to exercise, to keep his strength up, so that he would be of use. But now he was here, he didn't feel he was going to be alright. He had tried to stay strong, but that sense was purposeless. He had to recover, had to find a way of dealing with it. Natasha was looking at him patiently, and he realised that he had to react in the right way. He smiled at her and she rubbed his back, her fingers stroking through his hair.  
"It's okay Clint. It's going to be alright."

He had thought, after that, that it was going to be a quick fix - that he would fill in a few forms and be allowed back out onto the field. But it wasn't that simple. Even with Natasha's recommendation they were looking at weeks before he could go out again, which he hated, but he tried to stay focused on healing. If he couldn't sleep, then he'd spend the time shooting, or at the gym, or baking. He had to do things, had to try and make sure he could be back.

He found himself avoiding his team mates. He told himself it wasn't deliberate, that it was just that he was keeping odd hours, but he knew in his heart that there was more to it than that. He'd been taken twice, brainwashed by Loki and had his mind bent by The Red Room. Right now, he couldn't deal with a team. He ate alone, and made up any excuse he could to avoid the team.

It worked for a little while. And then Coulson mentioned to him that his attempts at proving he was healthy would go better if he was able to be seen spending time with his team. He wasn't eager, he didn't want to, but he had to get out into the field. He knew he had to be back out as part of the team, and that meant he had to be able to play along. 

He hated his psych appointments, but they were another necessary step to getting out, and he was going to get out. He sat there, and he answered questions, and he tried to smile and joke and laugh, to hide the pain that he felt when they dug too deeply into his past.

He didn't answer too many questions, he was careful about that as well - there was a certain amount of privacy that he was expected to keep, and he could do that. He'd lie about the nightmares when they got too personal, and he kept checking that none of what they said would get back to Phil. He gave a good impression of himself trying to get along with psych, despite his desire to run away, and it seemed to be working.

It was exhausting, lying and trying to convince them that he was alright when he couldn't sleep, when he would catch his hands shaking at moments when he wasn't focused. His hands still held still when he held a bow though. As he stood on the range, and sank arrow after arrow into the very center of the target, he felt calm. As he did that, he knew that it would be alright, and that he could carry on.

He shot for hours, until his muscles ached and his fingers and arm were bruised, until he knew he had drilled every single movement. Only then would he allow himself to step away and seek out Coulson to gain a little more sleep.

Coulson looked up from his desk as Clint knocked, and called him into the room. He signalled for him to sit, and then reached over his desk to squeeze Clint's hand.  
"I've just finished talking to your counsellor. You've been cleared for basic missions, and back up. You can fly the quinjet, and you can provide covering fire, but for now you have to stay out of the main fray, do you understand?"

Clint nodded, relief flooding him like a drug. He stood up, leaning over the desk and kissing Phil softly on the cheek.   
"Yeh."  
"Good to have you back Clint."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint is back out on missions, but not everything is running smoothly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Canon appropriate violence, Tony swears a lot

After being cleared for missions, Clint just had to wait for one to come up. New York being what it was, he didn't have long to wait. 

"Oh you've got to be kidding me!" Tony shouted, staring down at his tablet in utter disgust. "Oh that's just fucking typical."  
"What is it Tony?" Steve asked, still eating popcorn and sat on the sofa. Natasha's phone beeped and she got to her feet.  
"Hammer. Hammer fucking got out of prison, and he's gone and tried to make more suits. And apparently he still can't code for shit, so he outsourced. Now we've got a bunch of suits trying to attack midtown of Providence, Rhode Island, and Hammer asking me for help."

"There's about fifty of them, twice the size of the average human being and strong too, they're tearing through concrete." Natasha supplied, as Coulson was already on the phone to SHIELD, explaining that the Avengers were on their way and would deal with the problem.

"Okay, suit up everyone, we need to get there quickly, Doctor Banner, you come too. I'm going to need Thor and Hulk trying to deal with these things with me, and Agent Romanoff, Tony, I need you to try and take electronic control somehow. Coulson, can you keep SHIELD informed?"   
"Of course Captain."  
"Okay, perfect. Get ready, go to the quinjet. Not you Barton."

The rest of the team raced off to prepare, and Clint hung back, a little anxious, praying he wasn't about to be forbidden from taking this mission. He was reassured a moment later as Steve smiled at him.  
"You feel up for this?"  
"I do." Clint answered calmly. "And to be frank, sounds like you could use the backup."  
"We could." Captain America answered, and at that moment he was definitely Captain America and not Steve Rogers. "I want you up high, fly us there, land, then get yourself a good spot, use the explosive arrows first if you can, we'll find a weak point."  
"Got it." Clint answered, and then ran to get ready. He was at the Quinjet within a couple of minutes, his bow a familiar weight on his back. He waited for the team and Phil to climb aboard, and then he set off, heading for the city that needed their assistance.

After all of the previous stress, calmness settled over Clint. He was where he should be, he knew that with absolute certainty, and he would be doing the right thing. He felt almost hypnotically calm. The fear was gone for now, and whilst he did not doubt that it would return later, at the moment he felt invincible.

Natasha was watching him from the co-pilot's seat, but he tried not to notice her. Her expression didn't square with his current relaxed mood.  
"It's okay Tasha." He told her. Her lips pressed into thin lines.  
"I don't know if you're ready to go back out yet Clint."  
"I have to be." He answered her. "You need me. I won't fuck this up, I promise." His grip tightened a little around the controls, and he tried to focus on the conversation in the back of the plane.

"You idiot. Hammer, your tech shouldn't work, I mean when did you get this good? I used to be able to outbuild...okay, sorry, what... just send me the blue prints. Yes. Yes, I need those. No, I promise I won't steal your fucking shitty tech, I can do better, and yes I will send you that in writing when your goddamn robots aren't tearing apart a city. Just send me the files, you little shi-" The tablet gave a reassuring beep. "Okay, thank you. Now, this guy you had programming them, where is he?" 

There was a pause, and the soft sound of frantic talking at the other end of the phone. Tony groaned.   
"Oh of course. Fuck. Think he might be in one of the robots, well that's just fucking great, okay, well thank you Hammer, a pleasure as always." Tony hung up the call, and threw his phone onto the floor in disgust. It bounced, and Clint rolled his eyes.

Steve frowned.   
"Is everything alright there Stark?"  
Tony hesitated for a moment before answering, staring at the tablet and showing Natasha.  
"It should be. I'll get JARVIS to try and interfere with their communications, and there's a few obvious weak spots, the joint at the top of the neck and the thigh, so if Legolas aims his arrows there...me and Agent Romanoff will look for whatever's controlling these things."  
"Well done Stark. Does everyone understand?"

There was a chorus of agreement.  
"Nearly there Captain." Clint informed Steve.  
"Good, just set us down in the park, everyone get into positions." Steve instructed, full of confidence as always - he knew what he was doing here. Leading this group came naturally to him. The team agreed, and Clint started to look for the best spot to land the quinjet. Most of the civilians had scarpered the second gigantic robots had first appeared, which was not something that he could blame them for. 

It also meant the park was nearly deserted, so he could set the jet down easily. From the back, he could hear Coulson on a comms device back to the local SHIELD headquarters, and liasing with a variety of other alphabet agencies. He felt his mood lift a little at that. Not only was he back in the field, he had Coulson at his back. There was nowhere better that he could be.

He landed the jet, and the team scrambled out and ran towards the fray, all turning on their comms and pushing them into their ears.  
"Can everyone hear me? Have we got everyone?" That was Steve, making sure that they were at least ready for the fight ahead of them.  
"Aye aye Cap!" Tony called, followed by more subdued answers from the team other than Thor.  
"I can hear you good Captain!" Thor bellowed to the rest of the team.

Silence fell for a few more seconds, until Steve cleared his throat slightly.  
"Clint, can you hear us?"  
"Oh..." Clint muttered, remembering that he should have answered. "Yes, I hear you."

"Well try and focus bird brain." Tony called back.  
Normally, Clint would have shot something back, and the two of them would have continued to snark at each other until Steve was reduced to pleading with them to do their jobs. Today though, it was different. Clint didn't answer back at all. He had to get into position and carry out the mission he had been assigned, had to do what he had been waiting for. That certainty drove him onwards. In his ear, he could hear the rest of the team talking, but he was focusing on his job. Everything else felt irrelevant to him.

He scanned the area for a suitable perch, and then raced to the building he had sighted. It had a fire exit, a set of metal outdoor stairs down its exterior, and it was tall enough to give a good view of the city. He could hear the crash over comms of the Iron Man suit colliding with a robot, and heard the team calling to each other, but for now they were fighting blind. He had to get into position and provide them with the information he needed.

He hurried up the fire exit, jumping stairs, heart pounding, throwing himself up the steps. Everything else could wait. What mattered right now was getting to the top of the steps and getting into position. 

Clint was short of breath by the time the roof opened up before him, and he ran to the wall, dropping down onto one knee and pulling out his bow, activating it with a familiar flick of the wrist before pulling out one of the explosive-tipped arrows Stark had designed for him. He took a moment to calm, watching the battle - his team were clearly outnumbered, so he could start by thinning the enemy's ranks, then see what happened from there.

He drew back the string of the bow, turning his attention to one of the larger robots that was currently chasing Natasha. She had her stingers out and was attacking another of its number, scaling the creature, but that meant that she wasn't totally aware of her surroundings.  
"Natasha!" He called out onto the comms. "Drop."

She obeyed without thinking, and he sent the arrow hurtling into the space she had occupied a moment earlier. It sunk into the metal flesh of her opponent, and an explosive charge ripped it apart. He waited only to see that she was unscathed before he drew another arrow, looking around the battle to see where his help was needed most.  
“Thanks Clint!” Natasha called after him.

His eyes were drawn to where Steve was tackling three of the robots. Perfect. He pulled the string to his face, and his eyes gazed directly at their target, taking in the strong frame of Captain Rogers, who had his back to Clint. It would be easy to hit his heart from here, destroy Captain America and what he stood for. The shot couldn't have been more perfect. 

There was something screaming at the back of Clint's mind, telling him that he couldn't take this shot. He hesitated for a moment, listening to it, and then he realised with dawning horror that it was right. He couldn't. He stood frozen, unable to move, not willing to release the arrow towards his friend but unable to pull the bow away. His skin started to sweat, and he felt like he was being torn apart from the inside. He could hear screaming, and he realised it was him.  
“Clint?” “Barton?” “Hawkeye?” He could hear his team questioning him, and he couldn’t explain, couldn’t put the problem into words. He was going to fail them, and he couldn’t hold the bow back much longer. Steve was still perfectly positioned in his sight.

"Comp-" He gasped, body aching from holding the shot for so long. He heard the sound of a gunshot.


	5. Chapter 5

Natasha was sat in her own chair, alternating between watching a film and throwing popcorn into Clint's mouth from across the room. Clint was cuddled up on Coulson's lap and the room was relaxed. Everyone other than Clint seemed to be enjoying this dry spell between missions. Clint was going stir-crazy, which worried her. Normally Clint adored down time, but now he was just frustrated by it. She was hoping that it was just his way of dealing with what had happened but she wasn't sure.

"You've got to be kidding me! That's just fucking typical!" Stark's irritated shouting cut through the film, and JARVIS muted it as Steve turned to question him. Natasha's own phone beeped and she got to her feet, moving away from the team and only half listening to the explanation Tony was giving as she read through the information that SHIELD had just supplied her with.

When Tony's own explanation was finished Natasha added what information she could.  
"There's about fifty of them, twice the size of the average human being and strong too, they're tearing through concrete." She informed the group, her face grim. Coulson was on his own phone, using a direct line to Fury.  
"We're on our way, we'll have it under control, just make sure they evacuate the area. Yes sir." He hung up, and joined the entire group in looking expectantly at Captain Rogers, waiting for him to take control of the situation.

Steve, being Steve, was quick to do so. His eyes scanned the group, making eye contact with each team member as he spoke to them.  
"Okay, suit up everyone, we need to get there quickly, Doctor Banner, you come too. I'm going to need Thor and Hulk trying to deal with these things with me, and Agent Romanoff, Tony, I need you to try and take electronic control somehow. Coulson, can you keep SHIELD informed?" 

"Of course Captain." Coulson answered, a slight smile on his face. Natasha remembered how much her handler worshipped Steve. She knew that despite his professionalism, this must be a dream come true. Saving the world with Captain America... she rolled her eyes slightly, but smiled.  
"Okay, perfect. Get ready, go to the quinjet. Not you Barton." Steve insisted. Natasha frowned a little, wondering if he was going to pull Clint off the mission now. It seemed a little late in the day for that, and it would mess with his head, but she was relieved at the knowledge that the Captain wouldn't send Clint out if he wasn't ready. She dressed with the others and was waiting by the jet in time.

Clint joined them though, and he was flying them there. Natasha climbed into the co-pilots seat, ready to take command if necessary, but eyes on him rather than the controls. She watched him throughout the journey, wanting to check that he was alright. He seemed to be calm, which she knew from previous experience to be either a very good sign, or potentially a very bad one.  
"It's okay Tasha."

Her lips pressed together, as she considered lying for a moment, before deciding that Clint deserved the truth.  
"I don't know if you're ready to go back out yet Clint." She answered honestly.  
"I have to be. You need me. I won't fuck this up, I promise." He answered, and the sincerity in his voice as he spoke hurt. She knew he needed this chance, and couldn't bring herself to take it from him. 

She nodded once, that was enough. The grip he had tight around the controls for the jet loosened a little, and he seemed to focus elsewhere. She kept her eyes on him, only half listening to Tony’s voice droning at the back of the plane. She couldn't stop herself from smiling as he launched into another tirade at Hammer about his 'fucking shitty tech'. She had not been impressed with the man from her previous encounter with him, and this situation really wasn't endearing him to her. She didn't like robots, even if she did enjoy the opportunity to put her hacking skills to good use.

Once the call was ended, she saw Tony throw his phone to the ground, and shook her head a little in despair. She knew he was frustrated, but that really wasn't very helpful. If it broke they were going to be worse off than they currently were. He got up from his seat and moved over towards her, leaning through into the front and holding out his tablet, showing her the designs of the robots.  
"Everything alright there Stark?" Steve asked.  
"It should be. I'll get JARVIS to try and interfere with their communications, and there's a few obvious weak spots, the joint at the top of the neck and the thigh, so if Legolas aims his arrows there...me and Agent Romanoff will look for whatever's controlling these things." 

She looked at the designs, searching for weak spots, examining them. When Steve checked that everyone understood their role, she agreed, waiting for the mission to begin. Out of the window she could already make out the shape of the robots in the city below.

"Just set us down in the park, everyone get into position." Captain Rogers instructed, sounding like a natural leader, and Natasha nodded. She watched Clint closely, but he seemed to be alright, and he was landing the quinjet the way he always did. There were only a few civilians around, and they had found shelter, which made their life a lot easier. Civilians had a nasty habit of getting in the way. 

Coulson was muttering out instructions to SHIELD and the local police force, along with the FBI, ensuring that they knew what was going on. Natasha found that calming, as always. Coulson had their backs. It was clearly relaxing Clint as well, which she knew was useful. They didn't need for him to start panicking. The jet landed, and she put her comm on, joining in the roll call.

Clint's silence worried her, and she opened her mouth to speak just as Steve cleared his throat.  
"Clint, can you hear us?" 

There was a slight pause, before Clint answered with confidence.  
"Yes, I hear you."  
"Well, try and focus bird brain." Tony answered. There was no snarky backchat from Clint, which made her even more concerned, but they had opponents to fight now, and she just hoped that Clint could wait. Tony had done well to find the robots' weak spot, so they at least had a chance to take them down, but it didn't mean that it was easy.

"Alright, try and keep them together, Thor, take out any stragglers or those that try and escape. Tony, identify the ones that are controlling the others if you can, and try and block their signals. The rest of you? Bring down as many of them as you can, and Doctor Banner, we're going to need the Hulk."  
"Yes Captain." Bruce agreed as he began his transformation. He was still smaller than the robots, but Hulk was strong and his aggression enabled him to easily cause damage. Natasha darted out into a crowd of the robots, weaving between their legs and firing off shots where she could. She was too close to the ground to do the amount of damage that she would like, but this was a start.

One robot ahead of her was raising its fists against Hulk, bent down over her teammate. She easily ran up its legs and back, finding the joint in its neck and snapping it, putting the bot out of action. She jumped from it as it crumpled to the floor, and managed to latch onto the back of another, as Hulk turned to fight another opponent. Scrambling up this robot was taking all of her attention, and she was panting for breath. She grabbed at the joint, seeking the weak spot and twisting.  
"Natasha! Drop!" 

She dropped from the robot before she even registered Clint's voice, and only as her feet touched the ground was she aware of what had happened. She looked up in time to see the explosive charge ripping apart the robot that had been behind her, and sheltered herself as best as she could from the blast, stumbling away. The frame of the second robot slammed into the frame of the first, and both fell out of the battle.  
"Thanks Clint!" She called, moving back into the fight.

She was trying to identify her next opponent, having scaled a pile of rubble to get some height, when she heard Clint scream. The battle faded around her as she looked up at him. She couldn't make out everything, but he appeared to be frozen, screaming out in horror as he held his bow at full draw. 

He wasn't in control. That much was clear. She could hear the rest of the team trying to talk to him but she wondered if he was even there to hear them. He was screaming and he hadn't taken the shot yet, so that meant part of him was still trying to fight. But she didn't know how long that would last. 

She pulled out her gun, aiming at him, calculating where it would be best to shoot, not wanting to risk him letting go of the string as he fell.  
"Comp-" Clint gasped, and she knew he needed her help, needed her to do this. She held her gun steady and prepared to shoot him. She wasn't frightened at that moment. She knew that she probably should have been, but it wouldn't help her. She'd been taught a long time ago that in situations like this, fear wouldn't help. She aimed for his thigh and squeezed the trigger.

The force of the explosion knocked him backwards, the arrow flying over Steve's head to thud into the body of the robot behind. Clint fell back out of sight.  
"Hawkeye?" She called, waiting for a response. Over comms, she heard a soft whimper.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint wakes up trapped and fears the worst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slight delay here, it was my birthday. Thank you to the amazing shadowhaloedangel for betaing this!

When Clint opened his eyes he was hit by brilliant light shining at him from the ceiling. He attempted to move. His wrists and legs were bound, and there was a strap across his waist. He continued struggling, but all he earned for his efforts was a sudden jolt of pain flaring in his thigh.

"Son of a-" He cursed to himself, turning his head to the side to try and cut to the glare of the lights. He needed to work out where he was.

His heart started to race. He might be there. He might be back. They might be coming. He shuddered, gagging, bile rising in his throat. He couldn't go back. He couldn't. He couldn't. He was almost screaming in terror, his throat tight. He was going to pass out. Shit.

The team would find him. That knowledge helped, but he knew at the moment it wasn’t enough, not really. Tasha had said he wouldn't escape, and she was right, so right. He was still here. He shuddered, closing his eyes and fighting the need to be sick. 

He lay there with his eyes screwed tightly closed, pretending to himself that he wasn't here. That he was anywhere other than here.  
"Barton."

He froze. He knew that voice: it was Natasha speaking to him. But Natasha wouldn't be back there, she was too smart for that. He lay there trying to understand. It took a few moments, but he began to, and he forced his eyes open.

The walls facing him were a dark blue-grey. The walls of the holding cells at SHIELD, larger versions of the ones on the helicarrier. He looked up, beginning to relax a little, and saw Natasha standing at the wall which separated him from the rest of SHIELD.

He was still confused, and he was thirsty. He didn't know why he was in a cell. He tried to remember. Robots, yes, there had been robots, and Tony had been on the phone. He had landed the quinjet, and got into position. He had taken out two of the robots with a single arrow, and then...

He convulsed, nearly vomiting as he remembered what came next. He had aimed at Steve. He had stood there, with an explosive arrow primed in his bow, and his hand had moved until it was pointing at their team leader. At the symbol of America. At Coulson's hero. 

He looked up, shivering, and his eyes met Tasha's. She shook her head softly, unlocking the door and walking in, taking a seat beside him, stroking a hand over his forehead and running her fingers through his hair. His hand twitched, longing to wrap his fingers around hers.

"You were right Tasha..." He whispered, and his voice was hoarse. He supposed that was from all the screaming he had done. "I didn't escape, did I? No one does..." His voice sounded distorted to his own ears, hollow, broken. It made him feel worse. She leant down and brushed a kiss against his forehead, hand squeezing his once more.

"You escaped."

Clint looked up at her in shock. He didn't understand how she could say that. He had fought. He had used every trick SHIELD had given him to not give in, and it hadn't been enough. They'd used him as a weapon to hurt Captain America. He had failed his team. He had failed the closest to a family he had got, and it felt like being stabbed in the heart. He'd failed them with Loki, and nearly got Phil killed, and now he'd failed them with Red Room and nearly got Steve killed. He'd failed. 

"You escaped Clint. You fought back. They programmed you, they wanted you to kill Captain America, and you didn't." Natasha's voice was firm. "Don't you see?"

He shrugged. He couldn't listen to her right now. All he could think of was what he had done, what he had almost done. He could have lost his grip, could have fired the arrow at Steve. That thought drowned out any rationality. He managed a weak smile.   
"You shot me in the leg."  
"I did. At least it wasn't your face."

Clint looked up at Natasha, and saw the way she was watching him. She was studying him carefully, he could tell. And if she thought he wasn't in control, if she thought he was beyond help, she would have shot him in the head. He'd been hit in the leg because she thought there was hope, and she was the closest to an expert they had on these matters.

"Thanks."   
"I'm not giving up on you Barton. Not unless I have to." She answered, glancing towards the door. "You've got another visitor. I just wanted you to know that you escaped before you saw him."

Clint looked up towards the door and saw a familiar silhouette standing there. Phil. Phil had come to see him.   
"He can't see me like this, not after what I've done..."  
"What you did?" Natasha asked, and there was something close to humour in her voice. "You held out against torture Clint. You held out, and even when the control they had over you forced you towards doing something, you didn't finish. You didn't shoot Steve. You held out." With that, she patted his hand once more then walked away, leaving Clint just lying there, dizzy with emotion. He felt weak, and would have struggled to move even if he hadn't been tied down.

"Clint..." Coulson's voice sounded almost hesitant, if a little fond, as he stood in the doorway. "Can I come in please?"

Clint shrugged, knowing he didn't actually have much say over what happened. Coulson made no effort to move so Clint sighed and nodded.   
"Yeh, come in..."  
Coulson approached slowly, telegraphing all his moves before he made them. Clint was reminded of the aftermath of New York, of how fragile he had felt then. But at least then the rest of the team had known he'd been turned against them.

"Am I weak?" He asked, his voice shaking. "I mean, there must be a reason... there must be. It's always me. It's been me twice, and both times I've given in..."  
"You did not give in Clint. You fought, you fought with every ounce of strength you had in you. You didn't kill Fury, you didn't bring down the Helicarrier completely..." It was a familiar argument, but one that was soothing to hear spoken aloud, the careful promise that it wasn't all his fault. But this time Phil carried on. There was more to add to the list.

"You didn't shoot. It must have hurt, holding onto a shot like that, but you didn't shoot. You saved Steve. The people that took you, what they stand for, they were the threat and you held them off. The battle might have been in your head rather than outside it, but you still won."

Clint managed a slight hesitant smile at that comment. Because he could begin to see the logic of it. Coulson leant in, and kissed him.  
"You did your job to the best of your ability, like you always do. You saved Captain America, and you survived."  
"Let me guess, I'm still off the team..." Clint muttered, bitterness creeping into his voice. He didn't feel he deserved this. He didn't deserve Natasha's support, Coulson's kindness. They both seemed to be missing the fact he had screwed up, big time. 

"You are off the team until we are sure that any programming is undone. You are remaining here for now, and when you are allowed out, there will be limits. You will be supervised by either me or Agent Romanoff, your movements will be tracked and the restrictions on shooting will come back into force. I'm sorry Clint."

Clint shrugged. He knew he didn't deserve what little kindness they had shown him. After how badly he had messed up, they would have been justified in sending him to rot in prison, or just shooting him themselves. He'd been given another chance, and he couldn't forget that. He was grateful. But it stung. 

He'd put his entire life, all his hopes, into this big dream. Of being an Avenger, of being a hero. Now it was ripped out from underneath his feet and he was left with nothing. He closed his eyes.  
"How long am I in here for?"  
"Psych want to take a few days to run some tests. I'll visit when I can. Then, all being well, you will be released into my care..."

Clint nodded, gazing up at the ceiling.  
"It feels like they won."  
"They didn't. You were too smart for them, you fought too hard and did too well for that. You won."

Clint shrugged his shoulders, and Coulson squeezed his hand, leaning to breathe against Clint's ear.  
"I'm proud of you."

Hearing Coulson say those words had always felt amazing. He'd always doubted he could make someone proud. But now they felt hollow. He'd messed up, and it was only luck and some deep-seated fondness that they had for him that meant he was alive now. He closed his eyes and shivered.

"I'm proud of you Clint. I know you don't think I should be but I am."   
Clint smiled falsely and nodded, trying to pretend that it was alright. A thought began to circle around his mind - it was alright to say he was off the team for now. But there was the possibility he couldn't be fixed, and then he was off for good.

It was another few seconds before a worse possibility hit him, leaving him almost dizzy. There was a chance that he might have other triggers, ones that he wouldn't know until they were hit. It might not just be Steve he posed a danger to. 

Coulson's fingers traced patterns through his hair as he began to cry.


	7. Chapter 7

Clint wanted to stay leaning against Coulson forever, but he knew he couldn't do that. Coulson had a job to do, and he'd just made his life a lot harder. For now his world was limited to this stupid cell and his stupid treatment, and Coulson's wasn't. 

Coulson kissed his forehead as he left, promising he'd come back later. Clint shrugged, pretending that he didn't care, but hoping he would come back at least at some point. Coulson didn't disappoint him, that was what he had learned. The man had had dozens of opportunities to walk out of his life and he hadn't taken any of them. He just hoped he wouldn’t take this one.

Clint hadn't messed up so badly before. Well, he thought to himself, that wasn't quite true. He'd messed up fairly spectacularly with Loki. Coulson had forgiven him then. He might not have targeted Coulson's hero that time, but he'd targeted what gave Coulson's life meaning, had nearly led to his death and had been forgiven. He would have to hope for the best.

He lay restrained, staring at the door and waiting for Coulson to return. This was pathetic, and he hated himself for it, but he didn't know what else to do. He was stuck in limbo, and it was his own fault.

He tensed as he spotted shadows in the corridor outside. Two men. They weren't Coulson, the shape was wrong, the height. He felt sick. He didn't want to be put down, or told he was broken beyond repair. The knock to his door came as a surprise - he hadn't expected anyone to bother asking his permission for anything anymore. He was broken, and people would fix him, whether he wanted them to or not.

"Come in?" He called, trying to convey more confidence in his voice than he felt. It didn't seem to work - he sounded shaky to his own ears. The door slowly creaked open.

Clint wasn't expecting who he was faced with. Tony and Steve were both standing there, concerned looks on their faces. His mouth went dry, and it was a moment before Clint remembered to speak. He tried to grin at them, but it felt false on his lips. He didn't have anything to say to them.

"Hey Legolas. Heard you got yourself shot by Tasha, that's really bad for team spirit you know." Tony grinned at him, and Clint smiled weakly in return.   
"Yeh, something like that..." He paused, and looked up at Steve, who was lingering in the doorway, a look of earnest concern over his face. Earnest was a good word for Steve. He worried about everyone and everything, even when there was no reason for him to. He tried hard, and was honest, and Clint found he often resented that. Not right now though.

"Look, Cap, I'm ... I'm really sorry about what happened. You deserve so much better than that, and I wish I could go back and stop it. You... you're a good leader, and you deserve to be able to trust your team."

"I trust you Clint." Steve answered, moving towards him, hesitating and then putting his hand over Clint's own. "I trust you, and I know that what happened... that wasn't you Clint. You're not like that. It's what they did to you, and that is in no way your fault."

"You forgive me?" Clint whispered, his words feeling alien. It was hard to even think about it, and he could feel something pricking at the edges of his consciousness, telling him to destroy, to hurt the man in front of him. He wouldn't, and he couldn't, but he was aware of it none the less and his entire body jarred at the sensation.

"Of course I do. You're a team mate and a friend, you were tortured and they used you."

Clint shrugged a little, wondering why they couldn't understand.  
"But that's not enough. I nearly shot you."  
"You fought it. You held back the shot."  
"I still could have-" Clint protested.  
"Way I see it." Tony interrupted loudly. "It's just the same as happened to Rhodey, just you don't have a suit on. Someone hijacked you for their own purposes, and that's not your fault. You couldn't help it. It's not something you would do, but they made you, and you couldn't fight it because the control was too strong. Not your fault."

Clint hesitated, thinking over what had been said. It was easy to deny, but if that was how they wanted to view it, he couldn't stop them. He swallowed slightly.   
"So, what do we do about it?"  
"With Rhodey, Tasha just rebooted him." Tony supplied.

"I don't have a reboot button Tony." Clint muttered, deliberately keeping his eyes away from Steve. If he looked at Steve, he started to feel angry, started to get thoughts that weren't his own, and it was an unpleasant experience he was attempting to minimize. Steve didn't seem offended by it, but then, Steve was hard to offend.

"I know that." Tony answered. "I get that Clint, trust me, if we could just magically put you back to how you were before this happened... well. I'd be tempted to, and if you wanted me to I would. But it's not that simple. We can't change your thoughts, and while we're going to try and help you unlearn the programming, it won't always be that simple."

"So I'm fucked, basically?" Clint muttered, and he heard his voice break slightly. He needed to be able to be free of this, but no one seemed to have an answer. Tony hesitated for a moment, and Clint realised he did have an answer.

Of course he did. Tony always had an answer. This just wasn't an answer he was going to like.  
"What?" Clint spat the word, demanding to know. He had to know what was happening. It would be easier if he at least had some idea of what was going on, what Tony was planning for him. It made him feel frightened, but he was determined to face that fear. 

"Well, there's a chance I could devise an implant. The ...thoughts, that command you, they aren't part of you. They were forced on you, the connections are... well, I've seen a brain scan they did on you. They're different from your own thoughts. The neurological links are” Tony seemed to realise he was talking too much, and slowed down. “...well, we could isolate those patterns, and ensure that the implant can inhibit those thoughts and those thoughts alone, it'd ..."  
"You want to stick shit in my brain?" Clint asked, looking up at Tony as though he had sprouted an extra limb. 

The very idea made him feel sick. More than that, it made him feel broken. It told him that the only chance he had of passing as normal involved a computer being shoved into his thoughts, to rewrite them. He felt a twinge of fear at the possibilities that enabled. Tony hated how he'd throw popcorn. He could rewire that while he was at it. Change everything he wanted to about him. He shuddered, feeling sick, retching a little, still stuck on the bed.

Steve brought up a cardboard bowl for him to be sick into, rubbing his back and neck as he was ill. Clint retched again, letting Steve do so, the anger in his mind drowned out by the sheer terror he was feeling.  
"Thanks..." He muttered as Steve held up a glass of water, rinsing out his mouth and then drinking thirstily.

"It's okay Clint. It's okay. It's just an idea, and if you don't want to... we understand." That was Steve, as reasonable and calm about the situation as ever, and Clint's blood boiled but he didn't look at him, didn't let his anger build.  
"I just thought you'd like the chance to get back on the team." Tony pointed out. "It was the quickest way I could think of that you could do it. I mean, I think in time you could learn to reroute the thoughts yourself, this isn't a permanent solution. This is just for now, until you're able to do it for yourself. It would mean you were safe. I can try and design it to take out all of their triggers, not just the one we've found so far. You'd get your mind back..." Tony spoke calmly, and softly, not a sales pitch but an explanation. He was trying to let Clint choose.

Clint wished they had just forced it on him. He felt anger at Tony’s comment about the team. He could see what they were trying to do, but it just made him feel ill. He didn't want it done to him, didn't want his mind messed with and brain rewritten. But he didn't have much choice, not if he wanted to continue with the life he had, the life he loved. He felt like he was close to tears.

"Would you... would you please, just... just go. I'm sorry, but I ... I can't..." Clint panted, needing time to think, space to work things out. He wasn't sure if it would work. He closed his eyes against the two of them, barely hearing their soft goodbyes.

Only once he was left alone, still tied down, did he allow himself to crumple in on himself and begin to cry.


	8. Chapter 8

Clint was tense as Tony walked into the room, not looking straight at him but instead slightly to the side - a cheap trick, but right now he couldn't face Tony's eyes. Only Phil's hand over Clint's own kept him breathing.

He didn't want this. The thought of something inside his brain, messing with his thoughts, was horrible. Disgusting. But so was the thought of never being allowed back on the team, of spending a life time in this cell, or prison. There were other ways out, he knew that. He could always kill himself. But Phil deserved better than that, and so did Tasha and the rest of the team. This answer was horrible, but it was his only chance.

"Hey Clint..." Tony greeted him, and the concern was clear beneath the more casual attitude he always held. Tony was worried about him, and after how Clint had reacted the last time that they were together, Clint couldn't blame him. He swallowed slightly, and refocussed so that he was looking at Tony's eyes.  
"I'll have the implant." He said, and felt a slight swell of pride in the fact that his voice didn't tremble or shake at all. He sounded a little frightened, but he also seemed calmer than he felt and that was the best he could do. "I want to go back on the team."

Tony nodded, and didn't question it, instead beginning to make notes, asking questions to Clint about the exact situation and explaining to Coulson that more scans would be needed. He embraced Clint gently and walked away. Coulson smiled down at him.  
"You could still back out."  
"No I couldn't." Clint answered, breathing slowly to stay calm. He could do this. "I have to get back on the team."  
Coulson rubbed his shoulder, and Clint tried to smile.

*** 

The next few days were full of scans, and both Bruce and Tony visited more than once to discuss the project. Clint answered their questions and made a point of not thinking about it too much - he thought he'd probably be sick if he did. He just tried to smile about it and not let on how frightened he was. He was pretty sure Natasha and Phil knew, but they didn't call him out on it. They just came around fairly often to talk. 

When the day came for his operation, Clint couldn't eat. He didn't want to talk to anyone, but Bruce was there asking questions and he knew he had to answer. Quietly, he reassured Bruce that he wanted this, that he understood what it would do and that he was choosing it for the right reasons. Eventually the doctor seemed to be satisfied, and the procedure could start. Clint was glad they put him under for it.

When he woke up, the only noticeable change was a bald patch on the side of his head which he rubbed his fingers over, feeling stitches sunk into the skin. He tried not to let his mind linger on the knowledge that there was something inside his brain. It felt too disturbing to acknowledge.

He made himself sit still, and when the doctor came to check on him he forced a smile. Then a whole new series of tests began, checking that he could still talk and write, that his memories were unaffected, that he could shoot. Once his usefulness was assured, they began to see how he was concerning Cap. 

After all, if it didn't stop him from wanting to attack the Captain, there was no point in them doing it. He almost wanted to attack Steve because it would mean that the thing in his brain would be taken out, but he wouldn't lie. He answered their questions, looked at pictures of the Captain, took calls from him and met him in person. Finally, he was even shooting on the range when Steve appeared unannounced. Throughout, he made no attempt to attack. 

Bruce and Tony pored over the results, and Phil came to see him every evening, and he began not to be restrained for so long. As far as everyone could tell, the experiment was working and he was no longer under the Red Room's control. He tried to be happy about that even though it still disturbed him. After another two weeks of tests, he got the all clear. He could move back into the tower.

Even though he only had one small bag of personal effects with him, Steve still came to greet him and help him to move back.

"Hey Clint..." Steve grinned at him, resting a hand on his shoulder. Clint tried to smile, looking up at him awkwardly.  
"Hey... I... I am still... so sorry about everything that happened..." He admitted, looking down, ashamed. "You deserve so much better than what I-"  
"What they made you do. Which was not your fault. I won't hear any more about it." Steve smiled at him and carried on as though everything was normal. It helped Clint to pretend the same. He wanted everything to be normal. To try and be part of the team and for no one to doubt that he belonged there.

Returning to the tower was strange. Everyone was there and acting like nothing had happened, acting like life was just carrying on as normal. He tried to act the same way, but he couldn't easily. For the first few days he was tense, certain that he was constantly being watched, constantly being monitored, that they were waiting for the moment where he turned against him.

It turned out not to be true. No one was watching him - or rather, the extra care that was being taken around him was to make sure that he was alright, rather than to stop him murdering everyone in their sleep. That was oddly reassuring - that despite everything, they were still trying to look out for him, still caring for him. He didn't deserve it, but he wasn't stupid enough to decline the kindness that he was being offered.

For a few days, everything was peaceful. Clint clocked up extra hours at the range, trying to make up for the time that he had missed. Phil would sometimes come and watch, and make encouraging comments or rest his hand on Clint's back, right in the small where it felt like he was safest, but no one worried about the fact he was armed. Clint was beginning to relax - if Steve was willing to put his faith in Tony's technology, then he was willing to as well. 

Even Natasha, who had far more reason than most to be cautious about brainwashing, mind control and all forms of messing with your head, seemed to be alright around him. It was at that moment that Clint realised maybe he wasn't as broken as he thought. Everyone else was willing to accept him for now, he should show them the same decency.

Clint was busy shooting alone on the range when he heard a knock on the door.   
"Come in?"  
"Hey..." In walked Steve, a cup of coffee held out in his hands like a peace offering, a soft smile on his lips. "I thought you might want something to drink."  
"Thanks." Clint answered, lowering the bow and walking over to take it, sipping the hot liquid and smiling. "I appreciate it."  
"Thought you might." Steve answered, reaching to gently rest a hand on Clint's shoulder.

It was at that contact that Clint realised why it was that Steve had arrived, why he had come to see him. Steve had voluntarily put himself in a position where Clint was armed and he was not, to prove to Clint that he could trust himself. Clint wasn't sure what to make of that, but felt grateful for it. It had worked. Clint had felt no desire to attack Steve   
"I think you can go back on missions Clint. We've missed having you."   
"Thank you." Clint answered, managing a weak smile. "I've missed being there."

It wasn't even three days later that Clint's reinstatement became practical rather than theoretical with an alarm blaring out at four in the morning, announcing an imminent attack. Giant squid.

Tony began to rant about Namor, whilst the rest of them got dressed and headed to the Quinjet, which Clint flew to the harbour. Nothing was going wrong so far. Steve shouted out orders and they moved as a unit, the trust that had driven them from their first meeting coming back at full force, enabling them to work together to defeat the attack. Clint blasted the creatures with special stunning arrows, designed especially for this type of situation. At one point, he even tried turning his bow towards Cap, to see if he'd lose control - if Steve got hit with one of these, he'd be hurt but he wouldn't die. So there was that. But he didn't get tempted to let go. With relief, he redirected his bow. 

Natasha's voice buzzed through his ear on a private channel.  
"You okay there Clint?"   
"Yeh." Clint swallowed thickly. "I think I might be."  
"Good. Then hurry up and stun the damn squid."

Clint laughed and moved to obey, grateful as always to Natasha, and for the fact she just treated him like he was normal, that she was just friendly to him without demanding anything. That just like with Loki, she was willing to take him at his word, and once he had said he was alright things moved on.

It didn't take long to tidy up after the threat, and there hadn't been much damage done - cleanup only took them an hour or so. Then Steve's hand landed heavy on Clint's shoulder, and he smiled at him.  
"You're doing very well..." He reassured him, and there was pride there, and a sense of belonging - things that Clint had never known before. "It's good to have you back on the team."

Clint's throat felt funny at that, and he shivered a little before smiling.   
"It's good to be back."  
The debrief continued, and Clint contributed what he could, continually thinking about the fact he was back where he belonged. He might not have been completely fixed, but he was fixed enough to work which was his priority.

The team went out for a meal together, to celebrate their success, and Tony cornered Clint.  
"Hey... how were those arrows?"  
"Fantastic, thanks, do you think you could make me some more?"  
"I suppose I could." Tony answered with a grin. Clint was normally careful to conserve arrows, but when you were shooting into the Atlantic Ocean, there were only so many that you could retrieve. 

Tony hesitated, then smiled again.  
"Clint, how was everything else?"  
"Alright." Clint answered, looking away. "Trying not to think about it. I hate it, but it's... it means I'm here. It means I'm of use."

Tony nodded, and nothing more was said about it.

Clint tried to carry on with his job, and not to let his thoughts linger on the fact that there was something inside his brain that didn't belong there. It was working, and he was managing to keep up with the team. It might not have been perfect, but he was himself again. He just carried on, and as his hair regrew over the shaved patch it became easier to pretend that nothing had happened.

"Clint..." Phil caught him one morning as he came back from their shower. He had said he had work to do before Clint went, and his expression was cold and serious. Clint knew that this was important.  
"You should sit down." The voice from behind him was a shock, and he turned to see Natasha sat on the sofa. He paused and glanced down at himself, grateful to find that his towel had stayed around his waist where it was meant to be. He sat on the bed and reached for Phil's hand, but Coulson didn't take it. Natasha moved beside him instead.

Phil's coldness didn't bother Clint too badly. He knew that sometimes the job was too stressful and Coulson found it easier to be professional. But he still wished that he was being held against his lover’s side.  
"What is it?" Clint whispered, afraid.  
"We've found the group that took you - there were some survivors from our initial attack who formed a new base, we plan to wipe them out completely now. Intelligence suggests that they are an offshoot from the Red Room, and more active. They've been attempting to kidnap other SHIELD employees. So we take them down, and we take them down hard."

Clint nodded in agreement with that comment, trying to make himself smile. It was good they were going to be ended. He was just...anxious about it going badly, about Coulson ending up in enemy hands. Natasha's grip around him was a little too tight to be comforting, but he wasn't going to mention that. She deserved better.

"Alright."  
"Do you want to be involved? You are our best sniper, and you know the individuals involved, but I understand that this might be... painfully personal for you."  
"I want to do this." Clint answered, with conviction. He looked up at Natasha, wondering how she felt about the whole thing. She nodded, and Coulson smiled.  
"Looks like Strike Team Delta is back in action...." He paused, then arched an eyebrow at Clint. "We're moving at eleven hundred hours. And Clint, decorative as you are, put a shirt on by then."  
Clint grinned.   
"Yes sir!" 

He escaped Natasha's grip and went to get ready. Only once he was alone did he begin to panic, remembering seemingly endless days in the dark and in pain, the drugs they had tortured him with until he had lost his grip on reality. He didn't want to go back. But he had to end this.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finished this, thank you all for reading, and I hope you've enjoyed it. If you've got any ideas of what I should write next, please let me know. This has been fun to write, sorry for the delays!

Coulson gave Clint a little while to try and get ready, but when he still wasn't back with only ten minutes to the rendezvous time, he went to knock on his door. It wasn't that he thought Clint wouldn't make the meet, Clint always did. It was more that he wasn't sure whether he was in the right state to.

Tasha had said Clint wanted to be involved, and Phil respected that. He just didn't want Clint to get hurt if he could avoid it.   
"Hey?" Clint called from within. He sounded tired, and sad, and Coulson wanted instantly to embrace him and to make everything alright, but he wasn't going to force Clint to see him when he might not want to.  
"It's me. Can I come in?" 

He waited in silence for a painful few seconds, hoping that he would get an answer. He heard movement within the room, and then the door creaked open and Clint peeked outside, smiling at him sadly.  
"Hey..."

Coulson took a deep breath as he looked Clint over. He was still physically fit - of course he was. Clint would never allow his health to decay if he could help it. But there were shadows in his eyes, and a few of his eyelashes were damply clumped together. Clint said nothing about it, just stepped to one side so Coulson could come in.

Coulson stepped through the door, and pulled Clint against his chest, stroking his fingers through his hair and making gentle shushing sounds, promising him that it was all alright, that he wasn't alone. Clint managed a weak smile at that comment and nodded.   
"I know. I got you boss. I'm real lucky..."  
"You've got all of us Clint."  
"I know..." Coulson could feel Clint trembling slightly in his arms, knew that in a way it was a good sign. Clint's hands never shook when he was working, no matter what. If he was allowing himself this now, it was because he felt safe.

Clint stayed in position for a few moments, taking deep breaths which shuddered through his body before he pulled away and smiled at him shyly.  
"Thanks." The shadows were still there, but they had been muted, slightly. It was as good as he could hope for.  
"Bad memories?"  
Clint nodded, going to the wardrobe and pulling on his uniform.   
"Bad memories that will be dealt with."

Coulson nodded. "Clint, when we're working, I won't be able to pay that much attention to you, you understand. If you have a problem, I'm relying on you to drop back."

Clint's eyes widened slightly in fear.  
"No. I won't. I mean, the implant, they can't... they can't get me. They can't get me." His breath was too fast and he sounded terrified, and Coulson flinched. This was exactly what he meant.  
"No Clint, they can't get you. But you might see things you'd rather not, it might trigger flashbacks, and if you're no longer safe then you have to get yourself out of the situation and let us know, do you understand?"  
"Yes sir." Clint swallowed, but he was certain of it. "I can do that."

"Good. Then come on, Tasha will be waiting."

Clint grabbed up his bow and a full quiver, quickly checking the selection of arrowheads before he followed Coulson out of the room and to the waiting jet.  
Natasha nodded when she saw him, not saying a word, just smiling a little, acknowledging his presence with the simple companionship that still came so easily between the two of them. He was grateful for that. 

He climbed into the copilot's seat, and followed Natasha's instructions, heading towards the location of the Red Room base. Not the one he had been held at, but the same men, the same ideas, shifted to another location. The same nightmare in another form.

"Keep it together Barton. We get through this, you make your shots, and I will take you out for a hot fudge sundae." Coulson promised, and Clint nodded quickly, focussing on that. For a moment his thoughts blurred, and he remembered the circus, of forcing himself to perform with the knowledge that after there'd be a reward, and then of that nightmare. No. This was different. Because even if it went unsaid, everyone in the jet knew that Coulson would take Clint out for icecream regardless.

That thought comforted him, as Natasha brought the jet in to land. She pointed once the vehicle was settled safely on the rooftop.  
"There. That's where we are going."

Clint looked at the windowless, unremarkable grey building and felt a little sick.  
It wasn't where he'd been trapped, but his tormentors were inside that, and he wasn't going to be alright. He felt like he couldn't breathe. He lifted his head, and saw Coulson's eyes were fixed on him, cold, calculating. Trying to decide if he should be there, if he was fit for this.

He could drop out of the mission, he realised. For someone who was used to being forced to do things, used to having no choice, that realisation thrilled him. But a moment later, he knew that he would stay. He wanted to see this out, not because it was expected of him, but because it was something he could do. He could stop the torment that had been inflicted on him, that had been forced upon Natasha, from occurring to anyone else. He could do that.

He raised his hand to the patch on his head where he knew the implant was. He hated it, more than anything else that had been done to him, more even than the brainwashing. But he wouldn't ask for it to be taken out. If it got to the point where Tony said he could lose it, he would do so gladly, but until then, he would cope. For the sake of his team. They were worth this.

"Clint." Natasha's voice was tinged with impatience, but there was kindness there too as she called him out from the tangle of thoughts, getting him to get up from his seat, unbuckle his belt and follow the others onto the rooftop.

Coulson's hand fell on his shoulder and squeezed slightly, and he turned towards him.  
"You sure you can do this?"  
Clint nodded, and Phil brushed his lips against his cheek, a momentary lapse in his policy about public displays of affection, before standing back again, perfectly professional. He briefed the entire team, focussing his attention on Clint and Natasha.

Red Room, even this offshoot, were a considerable danger, but at the same time the two of them were the best agents SHIELD had. Natasha in particular was their expert on this group, on its actions and the sins it had committed, and she stood there calm, professional, her face impassive. She understood what Clint had been through, and just because she was better at hiding her memories didn't mean she wasn't haunted by what they had done to her. Clint knew that. And he knew that if she could do this, so could he.

Coulson nodded, waving a hand, and the group headed into position, finding the locations where they were expected to wait for the action to start. Clint felt tense, but he was staying strong, not breaking. Not now. He was here to be professional, and he kept reminding himself of that as they moved into position. There was silence over comms. Even Clint, who would normally joke his way through the tougher missions, couldn't bring himself to speak.

"Now." Coulson's voice was calm, quiet and authoritative, and the change it brought about was instantaneous. Groups slipped into the building - three pairs, and Natasha going in alone. He moved into the perch Coulson had selected for him, notching an arrow onto the bowstring and waiting as he heard the noise inside. The teams inside the building had been engaged, and he listened over comms to the sound of a gunfight. Once the first figure appeared in the doorway of the building, he turned to aim at them. He waited until they were some distance from the building to ensure the security of his allies, and then he shot them in the leg, and they fell. The aim was to minimise fatalities for information later.

He grabbed another arrow, and focussed on the shouting he could hear over comms. The firefight was fierce, and he wasn't sure who was winning. But it sounded good for his guys.

"Barton." His name stunned him - he hadn't been expecting to be spoken to directly. But he knew the voice, knew it was Natasha, that she needed him. She wouldn't have called him now, not unless it was an emergency. He shot a grappling hook down onto the building opposite, and threaded the handle he carried with him onto it.  
"Sir I am going in."  
"Barton..." Clint knew what would happen next. Coulson would tell him he couldn't, that it was too dangerous, that he wasn’t fit for this. He couldn't bring himself to care.

He took a run up, kicked himself off from the wall, and jumped out, relying on the handle to support him as he sped towards the building, bringing his feet up ahead of him to stop him from slamming into the wall at speed.

"Barton, stand your ground." Coulson's voice was tinged with exasperation, as though he knew even as he opened his mouth that his words would reach too late.   
"Sorry sir." Clint muttered, making his way in through the building, dropping down onto the window ledge and smashing his arm guard up against the glass, making a way in. He flicked to a private channel.  
"Agent Romanoff?"  
She rattled off her coordinates, her words punctuated by the sound of gunfire. 

Clint raced to the location, his bow out, careful as he turned corners. He was stopped in his tracks for a moment when he saw a room that was only too familiar. The chair with restraints, like the one he had been imprisoned in as they had given him drugs, rewired his mind... He shuddered, trapped for a moment in the memories and hallucinations they had caused, in the recollection of his father's expression.

"Clint." Tasha's voice was collected and tinged with urgency, a demand he would obey even to the point of death. He turned his back on that cell, and headed to her, finding her trapped in a corner, stuck in a shootout against three men. She had found herself some shelter, made sure she was covered as she always did, but she wasn't going to be able to go anywhere. 

He took a step further forwards, and noticed that there were two other bodies on the ground. She wasn't able to go anywhere until she'd taken out the rest of her opponents. Well, he could save her some time.

He fired a shot at the leader's legs, surprising him and making him fall back. Natasha floored another with a calmly fired bullet, as he drew his bow back and dispatched the third, all injured but none fatally so.

"I found her sir." He whispered over the comm, and Natasha rolled her eyes, signalling to him he was on the wrong channel. He fixed it, and repeated the information.  
"That's good. Clint, try not to die." Coulson's voice was level, and almost bored, but then he was used to this situation and well accustomed to his agents not obeying. Clint grinned to himself.  
"Oh, I'll do my best." For now, it felt like any other mission.

Natasha darted off to do whatever it was that Natasha did when the Red Room were involved. Knowing her, she'd be looking for files. Clint watched her go, and it took a couple of moments for him to register that he was alone. He shifted his weight uneasily, reminded himself of the mission objectives, and went to work.

He was here as a member of SHIELD, and if he was no longer operating the exclusion zone from outside, he felt he should at least do what he could to contain the enemy. Containment was key, and once they were caught, SHIELD would deal with them. He was removing an enemy. That was important to remember, to give him something noble to consider.

He was so caught up in his thoughts of responsibility that he barely noticed the figure approaching until they stood in front of him. He tensed at that only too familiar smirk, that still made him feel sick with terror. The man sneered at him.   
"Really now... you brought her back, thank you."  
Clint froze, and shook his head. He knew the implant would have stopped him doing this for them, but she was here. He'd given Natasha to them. 

As he looked into the man's face, days of torment and pain and terror came flooding back. His mind had been twisted and corrupted by this man, and once again he stood powerless before him. 

He raised his bow, aiming for the man's heart. He could end this for good. He shook his head a little, twitching the bow to the side and then releasing, watching as the shaft embedded itself in his shoulder. Even this monster was human, falling back in pain. Clint panted.  
"Found their leader." He muttered over comms, and the world began to spin. He made himself stay standing until Natasha arrived, and only then did he let himself fall to his knees.

The rest of the mission passed in a blur, and he only came back fully to reality when he was sat on the helicopter home, Coulson's hand on his knee, his body just a fraction closer than it would normally be.  
"We did it?"

"We did it. They are gone." Coulson reassured him, and Clint felt himself relax. He knew night terrors awaited him, that he would be haunted by what happened for months if not years. But he had done it.

"When we get home can I have some cake?" He asked, hearing Natasha laugh at the request.  
"You can have cake and popcorn..." Coulson promised, stroking his shoulder. Clint smiled a little at that. It wasn't over, this wasn't the end. But he wasn't trapped any more.

He thought of something Natasha had said once, about how she wasn't a "victim" of Red Room, but a survivor. He wasn't sure, but he thought that maybe with his team around him he could be a survivor too.


End file.
